Her Reason
by moirykins
Summary: one-shot. originally for a challenge community on LJ. basically - her reason for joining the Order in the first place.


The wand lay on her desk before her, cracked in two, the small sliver of unicorn hair peeking out from the core of the rosewood.

The sight of it broke Minerva McGonagall's heart, as did the parchment accompanying it.

_Dear Professor Minerva McGonagall, It is with deepest regret that the Ministry of Magic informs you that this evening, at approximately 11:43 pm, your nephew, Ian McGonagall, was killed in an altercation with dark wizards outside an undisclosed location in the west end of London. Your nephew was an exemplary trainee for Aurorship, and will be accorded all of the rights, privileges, and titles posthumously in recognition of his immense sacrifice. As his closest living kin, we send with this letter his wand, destroyed during the altercation._

Tears, hot and heavy, dripped onto the parchment, spotting the ink, as she sat in her classroom's office. The papers she'd intended to be grading this evening were no longer important to her. All she could think about was the pain within her heart.

Ian was gone.

Her only nephew, her brother's lostling, her dear last connection to her family, to the world outside this school, to everything good and warm and kind in the world.

Dead.

Killed by dark wizards.

Minerva knew plainly and clearly what that meant. She received the letters week after week now, and had ever since she took charge of Gryffindor Tower. The numbers of students who she'd graded, chided, and even loved, who she'd never see in this world again grew and grew.

While she sat idly by, teaching her classes, doing nothing worthwhile to avenge their losses.

She couldn't sit idly anymore.

_Ian, lad, why couldn't you have gone into herbology like your parents would have wanted?_

She knew the answer to that. She'd written his letters of recommendation for his training in the first place. Because Voldemort had killed his parents, he wanted to somehow work to make their losses meaningful. A noble reason, to be sure, but an almost wasted one as well.

Minerva reached for the wand, holding it in her hands, her thin bony fingers sliding over the wood, feeling the crack, the pieces of wood barely still clinging together. She could see inside the dark wand, stroke the thin unicorn hair.

Memories haunted her now. Of growing up in Scotland. Of sitting by a loch with her baby brother, him pulling her hair, her shoving him in the mud. Of getting her owl, going to school, excelling, studying, going to university. Of Airic's announcement of his new bride, of holding her newborn nephew, of agreeing to be his godmother. Of receiving another letter four years before, when Ian was a pupil of her own.

And now, it seemed, everything had come full circle.

She rose from her desk chair, the wand clenched in her hand, the parchment in the other, and began walking the halls of the school, between her classroom and another office further ahead. Every step filled her with a sense of need, of urgency, of determination. The feel of the wood poking her hand urged her on further.

Another conversation, only days old, wound its way through her mind.

_He asked me to join his cause, to end the pain, the loss, to work for something better. And like a fool, I told him I couldn't, I wouldn't, that how could I put effort into working towards something that, no matter how it ended, would harm students I have taught for almost a decade now?_

She'd always loved her books, her parchment and quills. She'd burned countless hours perfecting her craft, of learning the ethics and the logic and the rationale behind transfiguration. No matter how many people had teased her for her efforts, no matter how she'd seen her life pass her by, she'd always found solace in her studies.

Tonight, she doubted she ever would again.

_Ian, lad… I miss you._

How many other people had received their loved one's wands, letters in the night from owls bearing the crest of the Ministry of Magic? How many of them had cried, wept bitter tears of pain and loss and regret? How many more would still follow?

Could she really sit by anymore and let it happen to others? Could she mourn Ian's loss and pretend it was more important, more painful, than anyone else's suffering?

If she could, she wasn't worth the scarlet and gold she'd worn as a child.

At the end of the hall, she stopped, breathing deeply, the chilly air filling her lungs almost painfully, the sensation like needles pricking her heart. The stone gargoyle before her waited, silently as always, while she tried to gather her courage to speak a single word.

"Licorice".

The gargoyle moved, and the stone stairs showed themselves. Slowly, she walked up them, each step almost more difficult than the one before. More than once she stopped, part of her wanting to run back down them, to forget this insane plan.

The broken wand in her hand compelled her to keep walking forward.

"Minerva?" A calm voice met her at the top of the stairs. How she'd known he would still be awake at this hour was anyone's guess. But they both were there, two older, wiser wizards, staring across a faintly-lit room, understanding and shared respect between them. "Minerva, what is it?"

Silently, she stepped toward Albus Dumbledore, her hand reaching between them to hand over the letter. "I've changed my mind, Headmaster."

The blue eyes looked up from the page, filled with a sadness that would normally make Minerva angry. She loathed pity from people.

This wasn't pity. This was genuine.

He quietly nodded. "Tomorrow evening. Seven-thirty. This office."

She nodded, proud of the fact that she neither bit her lip nor toyed with her fingers. "I will be here. I promise."

Dumbledore watched his Transfiguration professor leave his office, hating himself for the battle in his mind right now. While he was grateful to finally have her on the side of the Order of the Phoenix, the price to pay for her membership was too high by half.

Unfortunately, it was the price almost every member paid, in some form or another.

Minerva made her way blindly to her apartments, fighting to get there before the tears began to fall, refusing to shed them where another might see. As she closed the door behind her, her eyes fell on a small side table tucked in a corner. A table where two other wands lay, broken themselves. With a gut-wrenching sigh, she laid Ian's wand beside his parents'.

"At least you're not alone, lad."

They were the last words she spoke before she collapsed in a heap on the floor, her body wracking from her tears.


End file.
